


Whisper Words Into My Mind

by Drag0nst0rm



Series: Avenging Merlin [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Merlin (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Hydra doesn't know as much about magic as it likes to think it does.





	1. Prisoner

Hydra had yet to break James Buchanan Barnes after years of trying.

Some of that time had been expected, of course. But as the time dragged on, the higher ups started demanding answers.

Some blamed his military training.

They weren't wrong, per se, but they weren't really right either.

Some blamed his natural temperament.

They had a point.

Some blamed Steve Rogers.

They had a point too. His reaction to news of his friend's death certainly supported that theory.

No one blamed Prisoner #175643. Why would they? The two prisoners had glimpsed each other, no more than that. The two hadn't had any opportunities to talk.

In hindsight, they really should have remembered why they'd bothered capturing Prisoner #175643 in the first place and realized that just because they couldn't _talk_ didn't mean they couldn't _communicate._

Who would have guessed that Bucky Barnes had druid blood?

James Buchanan Barnes screamed.

In a tiny airless chamber, tubes drained a warlock's magic. To an observer's eyes, he looked weak. Beaten.

No one could have guessed that he was whispering in Barnes's mind.

_Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You are not alone. Steve would be proud of you._

He is immortal so he cannot die, so they do not give him air. When Barnes survives another day as himself, he cannot cheer.

Merlin smiles instead.


	2. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting out is not the same as getting free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief note of clarification: This series is connected only by the fact that they're all Merlin/Avengers crossovers. They do NOT share universes.

The light was blinding. It was just a glimmer from a door suddenly cracked open, but to eyes left in darkness for decades, it was like looking straight into the sun.

With it came air.

Air. He gulped it in greedily, choked on it, coughed it up, let it scrape against his parched throat. Grand, glorious air. His lungs hardly knew what to do with it.

Someone shouted. The sound hurt his ears, but he clung to it anyway. He hadn't heard anything in so long. Not since Lt. Barnes had finally broken.

The old failure made him want to cry, but his body had long since run out of liquid for such luxuries.

He had run out of everything, really. Everything but the magic that kept him alive against all sanity or desire. It would have run out too if it didn't replenish so quickly. Hydra had certainly tried to pump it out of him.

New pain flared along his arms as the tubes used for that purpose were ripped out. The magic started pooling up in him again. The sudden rush of healing golden power left him gasping in relief.

The magic helped his eyes along too, clearing up his vision far sooner than should have been possible. There were far more important things for it to be fixing, but he needed to see who his rescuer was. Needed to because he had no idea how long he had been in there -

He cuts the thought off automatically, desperately squinting through the light. _Please let it be him, please -_

But the man was dark haired and wearing unfamiliar red armor that seemed to be missing its helmet. He allowed himself one last delusional hope that it might be Gwaine, or perhaps Lancelot, but he couldn't maintain the illusion for long. The man's brash voice, meant to be conveying reassurances, was most definitely not familiar.

Merlin shattered. He had been a prisoner for a very long time. Decades, even.

So what if Arthur had already returned? What if he had already died, come and gone and never realized his friend languished in the dark?

How could he know? How could he be sure he hadn't missed him? It would fit with the joke destiny seemed determined to make of his life.

He was shaking, he realized distantly.

The dark-haired-man-who-was-not-a-knight panicked. Someone else came, a blonde man with broad shoulders who was nonetheless not Arthur. He made up for this deficiency with a bottle of water he raised to Merlin's mouth.

Water. He wanted to guzzle it, but the man carefully regulated it to mere sips.

Even that was too much. The water hit his stomach, and it instantly rebelled. The precious liquid came straight back up, and Merlin started sinking back into the dark. He panicked, flailing with his magic, but the gold light was too weak, and his eyes shut.

 

He woke up to beeping and tubes that made him think of Hydra. He tried to rip them out.

The world went black again.

 

There were people in his room whenever he woke up. They talked to him, which was nice. Anything was better than the quiet that made him think of loneliness and the dark. They told him things were alright now.

He could have told them things hadn't been alright for over a thousand years.

He didn't bother. Talking seemed like too much work.

Still. Tony was funny, and so much like Gwaine that Merlin could pretend, sometimes, that they were one and the same. He was uncomfortable and angry, but he babbled out questions about Merlin's magic that though he didn't answer, made him smile.

Thor was loud. He was loud, and he was bigger than Percival, and he knew a bit about magic, and he looked at Merlin strangely sometimes, as though he had forgotten that he was Merlin and not someone else who was scrawny and had dark hair, bright eyes, and more magic than was good for him.

Natasha sung to him in Russian, and the sound was so beautiful that he sent her a memory of a merry fire, singing, and snow from his trip there. It was not quite words, but it seemed to please her despite this.

Clint was cheerful. He swung in from the ceiling vents at midnight when the nightmares had him gasping for air. He brought candy and snacks for himself, and when Merlin could eat and drink properly again, he shared, even smuggling in a thermos of hot chocolate. He regaled him with tales of life in the tower most of the time, but once he quietly confessed that the reason that he was up was because he had nightmares too.

He liked the man's archaic weapon. It reminded him of home.

Bruce did not visit often which was a shame because Merlin liked the quiet, unassuming man. He worried a bit when he overheard two of the Avengers talking outside his room and learned that visiting him apparently made the doctor angry.

Steve, always quick to realize when one of his men was troubled, guessed the problem soon enough and quickly explained the matter better. It wasn't him, his weakness and poor company, that made the doctor angry; it was the scars from the experiments, the entrapment and exploitation by Hydra that enraged him. It was not, Steve told him, that Bruce was alone in this, only that things were a bit more dangerous when the good doctor lost his temper. He told him of the Battle of New York, and Merlin nearly broke his silence to ask if there had been any similar happenings in London. He wondered too if perhaps, when he was better, he could help Dr. Banner somehow.

He liked Steve. The soldier, like him, was a man still in his prime long after those he loved had turned grey and been buried. The captain understood what few can, though even he had his limits. He had found a new family in this new time, and he will grow old with them, most of them, at least, a luxury Merlin will not have. But Steve listened well, as odd as that thought seemed to a warlock who would not - could not? - talk. Steve _saw_ well might be a better phrase. He saw the pain and saw where he was and was not welcome. He did not press or demand. He just was.

Yes, Merlin liked Steve. But Steve was not the first one he talked to.

That honor went to Lt. James Buchanan Barnes.

 

Barnes had talked about a Steve, Merlin knew, but there were a lot of Steves. He didn't make the connection until the night Clint was on a mission and Barnes appeared in his room.

 _You're alive!_ he called, delighted, mind to mind.

Barnes clutched his head like he was trying to shake the voices out, and Merlin cringed. That had been stupid of him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, voice straining over even this brief speech.

"You're real," Barnes said. He sounded surprised.

"Unfortunately."

Barnes nodded in grim agreement and disappeared.

 

He asked Steve about him in the morning, exercising his vocal cords once more. He assumed the soldier had found and started to help his old friend.

Steve set off on a new search. Merlin was not yet well enough to come, but he helped track him down. Steve lefts at once.

Merlin missed him, worried for him, but he wouldn't have dreamed of asking him not to go. He knew that look in Steve's eyes all too well.

He spent a lot of time on the iPad Tony gave him, studying the news he had missed. He was relieved by what he didn't find. There had been nothing to summon Arthur yet. He had not missed his king's return.

He healed. That was what he said at least, and he can eat, walk, and talk, so they can't argue. Tony thought it was a miracle he was still sane after all that time in the box.

Merlin thought it was funny that they assumed he was sane when he went in.

That thought was interrupted by someone who called herself an enchantress breaking into the tower. She seemed to know Thor.

Merlin presumed she was no one too powerful though, because it took him about two seconds to demolish her.

They let him come with them to fights after that. He stayed in the background as he once did in Camelot because he was afraid.

He was still afraid. Not of execution or rejection, but of friendships that will end too soon and leave him alone. He was afraid to care.

The others understood that feeling all too well. Natasha felt it. Bruce felt it. Thor felt it. Steve felt it. Clint felt it. Tony felt it. All for different reasons, but all feared.

They didn't let that stand in the way.

 

They didn't normally fight in Europe, but needs must. They were in London now, and it was the worst fight Merlin had ever been in, and that was impressive in and of itself. Blood ran through the gutters like water after a heavy rain. The creatures were everywhere, clawing, biting, and dragging victims away.

Merlin couldn't see the others. He couldn't see anything except the foul bodies throwing themselves at him, biting into his face. His spells bounced off them, and for the first time since Hydra captured him, Merlin feared the outcome of a battle. He couldn't die, but he could suffer. He knew that all too well, just like he knew how very, very vulnerable his companions - friends? - were.

He couldn't see anything but the gold flash of useless magic, the sheeting red blood, and the gnashing grey teeth.

Then he saw silver, a wide arc of it, as a sword sliced through the beasts on top of him. He wiped his face so he could see what hero has chosen the weapon or what civilian had pulled out an old family relic.

He saw blonde. He saw blue. He saw broad shoulders and a bright red shirt.

He saw Arthur.

"Merlin! Merlin, are you all right?"

His arm was broken and his face was clawed half to shreds.

"I'm fine."

And he grinned a big, dopey grin because he was telling the truth.


End file.
